


The End

by CoolStev



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolStev/pseuds/CoolStev
Summary: The End is a series of short stories about different world ending scenarios. Whether you want a short, depressing read, or a setting for your next roleplay or story, The End will have what you want. There is no happy end, it's only just The End.Note: The tags are preemptive. Any entries that may be upsetting for the reader will be marked as such.





	1. The Plague

It's been years since the world ended.

Everyone thought things would end with a bang. Some massive war, or a zombie apocalypse, or aliens destroying humanity. Nothing that crazy. Instead, it started with a plague. This wasn’t the kind of plague that made you die and suddenly get up, or made you irrationally violent, it was just a plague. It had symptoms, but nothing extraordinary. It started out very simple, with a cough, potentially sneezing. As time went on, the cough would get more severe, and the sufferer would have frequent bowel movements. Those bowel movements would become more frequent, even without food in your body, until it become nothing more than stomach acid leaving the body, and the cough would turn into wheezing, and hacking, with blood eventually pouring from the mouth.

The plague originated in North Korea, with people getting sick being reported on in the country, but the symptoms being played down. They were eventually sent out of the country for a “Make-a-Wish Foundation” style trip around the world of sorts, though in retrospect, the intention was obvious. Their targets were countries like Japan, Britain, America, Canada, countries that were on the DPRK’s hitlist. Of course, this backfired, and the virus spread around North Korea like wildfire, and their allies eventually contracted the virus too. Quarantine did little to prevent its spread, with some people intentionally slipping out of quarantine to spread it. Some for political reasons, others because they got some sick pleasure out of it.

Scientists were trying to find a cure, but by the time they made any progress it was too late. 60% of the earth’s population, potentially more if China was actually fudging the numbers, had gotten the virus. I was around 8 at the time, and my parents had been put into quarantine, while I was taken somewhere safe. The safety didn’t last long, as the guards around the safe zone began to disappear. Soon, the walls deteriorated, and people started running away. I, as well as some of the other teens who had been brought as kids, stayed.  
Eventually, survivors came to the safe zone. Looters, raiders, but also people who were genuinely still good hearted. The latter taught us about what had become of the former US in that time, and taught us to survive. Some of the survivors tried to start colonies, but the milk of human kindness is often exploited by those with no regard for human life. I decided I was better off alone, with nothing but a gas mask and a lead-lined jacket. Sometimes I’ll come across settlements, but they’re often gutted, with corpses lining the streets, some dead from raiders, others dead from the plague. Sometimes I’ll come across some military bases, but the ones that aren’t filled with bodies usually shoot on sight. 

I’m writing this journal because I know I’m going to die soon. A few days ago, I changed the filter on my mask, and I developed a cough. Every pharmacy I visited was full of cough medicine, but none of it stopped the cough. I want this knowledge to be preserved for any future survivors. Don’t let the human race die.


	2. That Which Should Not Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following may be disturbing to some readers.

Daniel sat behind a crumbling wall in the streets of what was once Manhattan. Outside, shambling, formless creatures made of flesh roam the streets. Shoggoths. His heart is racing at the thought of what they might do to him. He had seen what they had done to others, what the sight of them had done to lesser men. He watched as one moved on top of an automobile, and effortlessly crushed it under its weight. He gulped, and began moving deeper into the ruined city, avoiding the monsters that littered its once beautiful streets.  
The darkness shrouded Daniel. Long ago he would have feared it, but it comforted him now, like a blanket hiding him from the unspeakable monsters that roamed the world. Finally, he found what he’d been looking for, a former speakeasy. He’d visited the speakeasy often when there was still any sense in the world. He remembered his wife’s nagging, pulling his ear off when he came home drunk after a long day of work. He missed it. He missed it more than he imagined he ever could have. It would do well enough, as far as shelter goes. At least for now, until they began to smell him.  
He pulled open the cellar door slowly, making doubly sure not to make any noise, and he closed it just as slowly behind himself. As he entered the speakeasy, a light washed over him. The light of a fire. Someone else was there, a woman. From the looks of her, she had been a mother once, before the unspeakable ones rose from the depths. Slowly, he moved from the shadows, but his presence was not welcomed, not at first. The woman drew a Beretta, pointing it at the newcomer. “Stay back! You’re one of them, aren’t you!?” She said, her entire body shaking as she threatened the man.  
“Calm down. Just… Lower the pistol. I’m not one of them.”  
“Oh yeah? And just how do you intend to proved that, huh?”  
Daniel thought for a moment, before reaching into his pocket. She fired off a warning shot, narrowly missing Daniel’s head as he began to slowly pull out his wallet. He tossed it to the woman, who opened it with one hand, revealing an employment record.  
“My name is Daniel McCaferty. I’m a third generation Irish American born here in Manhattan, and I was an accountant before all this.”  
“F-Fine… I’ll believe you for now, but… Don’t make me kill you…”  
Daniel moved closer to the woman, eventually sitting at the fire, adjacent from her. She kept the Beretta in hand. “Now that I’ve told you who I am… Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”  
“I guess I still need to socialize… My name is Margaret Jones.” She said, still wary of Daniel.  
“Margaret, huh? It’s good to meet someone after all this time.”  
“Uh-huh… Likewise. If you’re human that is.”  
“I guess it makes sense that you still don’t believe me, given that those things can take a human shape.”  
“I know it all too well.” Margaret said, a sad look in her eyes. “They tried to copy my husband. They copied my mother and father too. Did you know they can die? When it’s just one or two of them, it’s easy.”  
“I’ve seen it happen. Good buddy of mine took himself out with enough dynamite to demolish an apartment to kill a whole crowd of them. Damn shame.”  
Margaret didn’t seem to pity him. Not for a lack of understanding. “I just wish I knew where they came from…”  
“I don’t know. Some people mention ‘elder gods,’ or the cosmos. I wouldn’t be too surprised if they were natural, though. Especially after what I saw in the Great War.”  
“The Great War? You expect me to believe a soldier became an accountant?”  
“It’s true. Served in the Second Infantry as a machine gunner.”  
“Well, I’m not sure what you would have seen. I’ve heard of shell shock, but that’s about it.”  
“Well, you might say that’s what it was. I saw dead krauts get up and start fighting, right before they started filling the trenches with mustard gas.”  
“The undead? Well, before now I would’ve called you crazy, but now…” Margaret sighed, and chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure what to believe anymore. I thought god was merciful, and kind, but now I’m not even sure of that.”  
Daniel got up and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it by hand, and took a swig, before handing it to Margaret, who drank it reluctantly, before having a coughing fit from the liquid fire that poured down her throat. “That’s the kind of spirit I believe in.”  
“Of course you do…” Margaret said, rolling her eyes.  
“You’re holding out on me, though. There’s something you haven’t told me.”  
“What’s there to tell you?”  
“You’re alone. Why?”  
Margaret gulped, and sighed, before tears began to well in her eyes. “When this all started, I had my children with me. Two little boys and a little girl. A couple years back, I’d gotten paranoid, and thought they were acting strange. I was convinced they’d been replaced, so…” A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t dare say what happened next.  
“Oh god…” Daniel said. “You… How could you!?” He rose again, and Margaret stared at him, utterly shocked.  
“Wh-what?”  
“They were your children! They were your children, and you killed them! How could you!?” Daniel shouted.  
“I know! I didn’t know at the time, but… God, you think I don’t feel guilty about doing it? I think about it every night!”  
“It’s… It’s sickening!”  
“Shut up! I never should have told you… I should have just shot you!” Margaret shouted, her face turning red. Daniel spat on the floor, and turned to the exit. A shot nearly missed his head, and he sprinted out. As he left the speakeasy, he saw something headed for the cellar. Many somethings. They smelled humans, fire, and gunpowder. Large, bipedal monsters. Ghasts. Daniel turned away, and walked off as Margaret’s screams began to fill the alley. He wasn’t sure that what he had done was right, but there was nothing he could do now. He entered the shadows once more, content to be alone...


End file.
